In Laughing Memory
by Wuff
Summary: Fred's funeral told through the eyes of several minor characters.


**Summary:** Fred's funeral told through the eyes of several minor characters.

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling. I don't intend to make money with this.

**Author's note:** All forms of feedback are very welcome. I try to reply to all reviews and really value your opinion on this.

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**In Laughing Memory**

Neville could not remember a time when he had been more exhausted than now. The last days had forced him to become an expert in attending funerals. First Colin Creevey. Neville had not been able to eat anything for the rest of the day after seeing the small body being lowered into the earth. At the same day there had been an official celebration party at the Three Broomsticks, where he was expected to show up. The day after that, Professor Lupin and his wife were buried. It had been a small funeral, which had made it all the more difficult because Neville could not hide in the background and be alone in his grief. Then Professor Snape's burial, which was an even smaller occasion. By that time, Neville had already felt completely numb. But he knew Harry had expected him to come there and so he had done, of course. Then the ceremony of bestowals of the Order of Merlin, First and Second Class, for several people who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. More funerals. More celebrations. More speeches. More ceremonies.

Neville was glad he had a new Remembrall. As disrespectful as it sounded, he kept forgetting whose funeral he was meant to attend next. So it was Fred Weasley's today. Neville felt like there was a heavy fog around his brain and there was a roaring in his ears (just like the Weasleys' firework) that blocked out the priest's speech. He could tell it by heart anyway. He just could not explain why all the time he felt like he would turn into a canary any moment. Maybe Fred had planned something as a last prank ...

When the priest had finished his speech, everyone was silent for a moment. There was no sound but the sniffing and suppressed choking coming from everywhere. From everywhere but George, Neville realised, who just glared almost angrily at the coffin. Unfortunately, Trevor chose that moment of silent grief to issue a loud croak.

"Sorry," Neville whispered when Ginny echoed the toad's croak with a loud sob.

"Remember when Fred charmed him to sing _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love _to Snape?" Dean Thomas whispered.

"I suppose Trevor wanted to say goodbye to Fred, too," Luna remarked and she was probably right.

ooo

As temporary Minister for Magic, it was Kingsley's duty to deliver another speech now, in which he would praise the hero's braveness and loyalty, and offer the family and friends condolences.

"I know that nothing I say can really comfort you over Fred Weasley's death. There is no comfort when such a young, fun-loving person dies. But let me assure you that his death was not in vain. Although so young – and some might call him carefree, frivolous, a boy who doesn't know anything about the serious side of life – he, in fact, did know about it. From the moment that He Who Must Not Be Named was back, Fred was always willing to support the right cause. He did it by fighting, by cheering us up with his jokes and he even helped the Ministry a lot by developing together with his brother some excellent tools like the Shield Hats --"

Kingsley's speech was interrupted by someone clearing their throat demonstratively. Kingsley turned to the sound and saw Percy Weasley, who was hovering nervously next to him.

"Can I have a quick word with you?" he whispered and pulled Kingsley away from the magiphone.

Kingsley frowned. From what he had heard about the black sheep of the Weasley family, Percy Weasley was indeed highly ambitious and would go to enormous lengths to establish contact with the Minister for Magic but he could hardly believe Percy would try it at his brother's funeral …

"I'm sorry but it's not very appropriate," Percy said awkwardly.

"Indeed."

"What I mean is …" Percy lowered his voice. "Fred would freak out if the _Minister_ made a speech at his funeral about what a good person he was and how he helped the Ministry." Percy gulped several times and then continued. "He wouldn't want to be remembered that way. I – I think he would want to hear how he and George always caused the Ministry trouble and what a … pain in the ass they've been."

"Hm, yes, very good observations, Mr. Weasley. I'll see what I can do about that." Kingsley briefly clasped Percy's shoulder and then went to continue his speech. He did not know how to deliver such a speech. Besides, personally he had always been rather amused by Fred and George's jokes but as Minister for Magic, he had a role to fulfil. So he improvised,

"We must, however, not forget that sixty-five percent of the Shield Hats from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes came delivered with charms on them that would constantly insult the carrier. And I can't even begin to tell you how the fake wands that were smuggled into the Ministry on a daily basis hampered our important work. And the smart-answer quills! Made the work at the Wizengamot practically impossible. Insolent, I say! No one has ever caused the Ministry quite as much trouble as these pranksters. I will never forget the day the Fountain of Magical Brethren spat Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs instead of water. It was pure chaos."

He had everyone's attention now, even George Weasley's, who looked at him with a look of grim satisfaction. Kingsley forced himself to continue.

"What Alastor Moody never managed to drill into us, Fred Weasley did. I think no one of us will ever again dare to eat a little harmless-looking sweet without testing it for hidden spells first. Let it be said that Fred Weasley was the horror of the Improper Use of Magic Office. But we all at the Ministry will never forget the havoc he wreaked on us. So, dear parents, let me give you a last warning before I finish this speech: Be careful what you buy for your children or let them buy. The products of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes are potentially dangerous and will definitely cause trouble." A little bit of advertisement never hurt …

ooo

"So the Ministry think they have had it bad?" Minerva huffed. Oh, they had no idea. Minerva McGonagall had taught the twins for seven years and had, as their Head of House, been responsible to somehow make them behave. Naturally, she had spectacularly failed.

"I only have one word," Pomona Sprout said teasingly, "Catnip."

The other teachers, who were standing nearby, chuckled softly. Only then did Minerva realise what an unusual sound it was. When had she heard her colleagues laugh for the last time? How could you laugh when your protegés were tortured by Death Eaters? When you, an old person, had to attend the funerals of so many younger ones?

Minerva's chuckle turned out a bit watery. All the times she had given the twins detention, shouted at them, told them to rethink their life, and not to forget: the disastrous Career Advice …

Oh, but she had always grudgingly liked those two. They had been charming. She still remembered very well how Fred had asked her to dance at the Yule Ball and had given her the silliest compliments non-stop. Of course George had used that time to spike her drink …

ooo

Peeves had never attended a funeral before. Well, he had once broken up Phineas Nigellus's funeral (because the boring and nitpicky headmaster had certainly deserved it) and had disturbed Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party. But strictly speaking, he had never attended a funeral as a mourner. Mostly because mourning just wasn't a part of Peeves's personality.

He quickly decided that he had not missed much. Peeves was quite sure that he did not like funerals. They were quiet. They were solemn. People did not move. People neither laughed nor shrieked. It was sheer torture for the poltergeist. But Fred Weasley had been a good one and Peeves felt that he owed his favourite student this. (Actually, Fred had not been 'good' at all but that was exactly the reason why Peeves respected him.)

But a poltergeist can only take so much order and quiet and seriousness.

After the new Minister had delivered the speech, Peeves decided to do something. It would be a shame if Fred Weasley left quietly. Yes, Peeves wanted to pay his last respects …

ooo

To Oliver, the worst part of the Battle of Hogwarts had been the sight of several redheads bent over a body, shaking and crying. Even now, he could still feel the ice-cold dread that had gripped him then. Who was it? Charlie, who had brought him into the Quidditch team? Percy, with whom he had shared a dormitory for seven years? Fred and George, his brilliant, disrespectful Beaters? He could not decide which would be the worst option but when he finally caught a glimpse at the body and could not even recognise whether it was Fred or George's corpse, it was even worse.

Of course, he had learned quickly that it was Fred. And could not believe it.

The last time he had seen Fred had been when Oliver had stormed into the twins' joke shop and had ranted at them for sending him fake broomstick polisher, which had made his broomstick shoot stink pellets at the opposing players – _in his first match!_ Of course he had been disqualified – _for two more matches!_ He had been ready to kill the twins. And he had told them that. And that had been his last words to Fred.

Merlin, if he could take them back … It had just seemed impossible that _Fred Weasley_ of all people could actually die. The twins had seemed like an indestructible spirit of mayhem.

Oliver could only hope that Fred would appreciate the irony, could only hope that he would cackle at Oliver and tease him because Oliver had not succeeded in killing him.

Oddly enough, Oliver hoped that one day George would prank him again, no matter for how many games he would be disqualified. Although he hated to admit it, he felt like something was missing in the Puddlemere United team. On the one hand, it was helpful that everyone was serious about Quidditch, on the other, he sometimes wanted someone there to remind them all that Quidditch could actually be fun.

ooo

Filius Flitwick was probably the only teacher who had never complained about Fred and George. In fact, they had been two of his very favourite students. Their creativity had never ceased to impress him. When they played tricks on him, he was usually rather entertained than annoyed. Once he and Professor Lupin had even played a prank back on them as revenge for charming the blackboards to spell rude comments at the teachers.

But now … all the spirit they had emanated seemed to have gone. George Weasley stiffly stood a few feet away from his family. He did not even cry.

There was still the small part of the Portable Swamp they had once created, a memorial which seemed much more fitting than the black tombstone here.

ooo

It was good that so many people had come. So many friends and admirers who wanted to say goodbye. So many good memories Fred had given them all. It probably did not help the family who stood huddled together directly in front of the grave into which the coffin would soon be lowered. They probably did not want all of these strangers to disrupt their mourning.

But Angelina was glad that so many others were here. She had been afraid that she would be out of place at the funeral of a friend she had not seen for several months. She did not know how to express her grief, how to _justify_ her loss. Especially when she saw the way George's shoulders were hunched and his lips drawn in a tight line. She was afraid of meeting him face-to-face because what could she possibly say? _I'm sorry? _And if she didn't say anything at all? Shouldn't she somehow express her sympathy to the grieving family?

She had stayed in the background and had watched how Fred's parents clung to each other, how Hermione supported Ron, how Harry squeezed Ginny's hand, how Fleur held Bill (and Angelina suddenly felt so cold and lonely). Just George stood on his own, refused his mother's embrace and shook off Percy's hand that cautiously touched his shoulder.

But then there was suddenly a hand on her arm and when Angelina turned around, she came face to face with Katie Bell, whose eyes were watery, too.

"I still can't believe it," she said hoarsely and Angelina could only nod. "I've brought some flowers." Katie indicated the bunch of yellow flowers in her arms. "Thought he'd like them."

Angelina frowned. Fred hardly seemed the person to appreciate flowers. That was the problem. She had not known what to bring to the funeral but flowers had just seemed wrong. And she always cringed when she saw the many bouquets of flowers draped around the coffin. It just proved how helpless they all were that they retreated to such traditional matters to say goodbye to him. Angelina could not help but remember how he had asked her to come with him to the Yule Ball – it had been so simple, just en passant but she had always felt flattered that he had _not_ come to her with red roses to ask her out in a long speech copied from a silly romance novel.

"Take a smell at them," Katie said, a little grin lifting her tearstained cheeks.

Angelina sniffed the flowers and recoiled immediately. "Ugh, they smell like …"

"Exactly. They're one of the main ingredients of Dungbombs."

ooo

They had always been exceptionally rude. Had made jokes about him, about his _death_. So there was really no reason why Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington should pay Fred Weasley his last respects now. Had they ever shown sympathy to him? No, they had never let a change pass to mock his half-beheaded state.

Funny, how he still only ever thought of 'them' when there was actually only one of them left. One twin – did such a thing even exist? It seemed unreal, seeing just one of them standing there. Nick half expected the other to turn up on George's side any moment but George remained there alone, unmoving. Just George then, a rather boring name, if you came to think about it. There would be no more problems to tell them apart now. The hole where George's ear had once been made sure of that.

Nonsense, there was no one you had to tell apart any more. Nick would have expected them to die together so that they could have a double funeral and both of their names on the tombstone. As a ghost, you did consider such things quite often. The interest was more on someone's death than on their life. But war often got in the way.

The only suitable metaphor Sir Nicholas had to compare Fred's unnecessary death to was his own botched decapitation. No matter how often his executioner had tried, they had not managed to severe his head from the rest of the body. Nick feared that something of Fred would always cling to George just like the ghostly half-inch of skin and sinew that refused to let Nick's head go.

ooo

They had asked him to give a eulogy because none of the Weasley family members felt up to it. After several years of commentating Quidditch matches and launching Potterwatch, that should not have been a problem for Lee Jordan. But it was.

The night before the funeral, Lee had not been able to sleep. Again and again, he had rewritten the eulogy because something did not seem right. If he praised Fred's joke shop and prankster tendencies too much, Mrs. Weasley might not be happy with it. But if he left that part of Fred's life out, it did not sound like Fred anymore.

Shortly before the ceremony, he tore the parchment with the written eulogy apart because it sounded almost identical to the speech that had been delivered at Dumbledore's funeral and _that_ would be inexcusable. Well, he would just have to improvise then.

But when he took the magiphone after the Minister had finished his speech, words failed him. He looked around at all the people who were crying and hugging each other, staring at the coffin or looking expectantly up at him, and Lee's throat was too tight to speak.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, put the magiphone aside and hurried away.

Never had he been more ashamed in his life. Why did the words that had always come so easy to him fail him now? It could have been the last thing he did for his friend but he had failed and he would never be able to make it up to Fred now.

ooo

Verity was more than a little worried. The funeral did not proceed to her liking (and neither to Mr. Fred Weasley's, she suspected). Everyone was just _too _sombre. She wondered now if it had been such a good idea to secretly attach a packet of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs Deluxe to the coffin. She somehow had the feeling that people would not be amused.

She had debated long with herself but in the end, her sense of duty to give Mr. Weasley a proper send-off had won. Really, what would he say if he was buried just like everybody else?

And there was really no one but Verity who could have done it. Only she and Mr. George Weasley had the keys for the joke shop and Mr. George Weasley did not seem in the mood to go there.

Verity's heart started beating faster. She had put a timer on the firework and it should go off in exactly one minute and fourteen seconds now. The coffin was being carefully lowered into the grave. A bit too early, thought Verity, because she had planned that the firework would nicely explode during another boring speech. Lee Jordan, however, had not given any speech at all. So now people were walking up to the grave one by one or in pairs, threw a handful of earth or a flower into it and said their last goodbyes.

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley's parents were the first to stagger to the grave. Everybody looked down because they did not want to intrude upon such a private moment. Verity's gaze was fixed on her watch. Forty-two seconds to go. Next was Mr. George Weasley, who just threw a handful of earth into the grave very quickly and turned away again. Thirty seconds ... The oldest brother and his wife walked forwards next. The beautiful French woman had a bouquet with exquisite flowers with her. Verity started to sweat. If they did not go away very quickly, they would be hit full force by the explosion. She sighed in relief when the couple turned and walked back to the rest of the family. Just six more seconds to go. _Five … four …_

"Shit!" Verity gasped out loud when the next brother hurried forward. She had not seen that one before but she knew immediately who it was because Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley used to say some rather nasty things about him or imitate him. Why him? Why the petty law-abiding one of all the Weasleys? She already saw herself being accused in front of the whole Wizengamot _… two … one …_

BOOM!

And Percy Weasley went flying several feet through the air to land in the heap of funeral wreaths and bouquets.

"_Percy! _Are you --"

Mr. George Weasley's worried exclamation was the last thing Verity could understand before blasts and bangs and hisses and people's screams and shrieks drowned out every other sound. People were ducking their heads to avoid the fiery dragons, firecrackers were singing the black hats of some witches, rockets were shooting into the sky with a satisfying _wheeeeez_, sparkling Catherine wheels were waltzing through the crowd, forcing people to jump away: they were bumping into each other, tripping over their long black cloaks.

The rest of the Weasley family were fortunately too busy checking Percy for injuries (who seemed fine but for his broken glasses) to be insulted by the disrespectful commotion. Verity thought she heard Lee Jordan laugh who collided with another person trying to escape a green dragon soaring towards them.

She breathed a sigh of relief – but just then something squishy hit her right on top of her head. She squeaked and when she felt for what it was, her fingers sank into a rotten tomato. Shuddering in disgust, she looked up to see the poltergeist zooming over the crowd, throwing rotten tomatoes and eggs, flobberworm parts, pumpkin mash and pickled slugs at everyone. This was getting more and more out of hand. Verity quickly put on one of the Shield Hats to protect herself against more attacks from the crazy poltergeist, who currently had lots of fun cracking eggs on the Minister's bald head. Other people seemed to have fun, too. Mr. Charlie Weasley proved to be almost as good with firework dragons as with real dragons and managed to make them spew sparks at Peeves. Professor Flitwick purposefully used Stunning spells on the rockets to create spectacular explosions. One boy was running around looking for his escaped toad. Professor McGonagall was shouting herself hoarse by trying to convince Peeves to stop. The young man who had once come into their shop to shout at Mr. and Mr. Weasley for an hour was now frantically jumping up and down in order to catch everything Peeves aimed at the people around him.

All in all, Mr. Fred Weasley would have probably enjoyed the sheer chaos, the noise and the explosions.

Mr. George Weasley, however, was sobbing loudly. But at least he let his mother embrace him now.


End file.
